Close
by m. butterfly

Every time Walter Skinner thought his life couldn't get any more complicated, it invariably did.

He hadn't seen his kid brother since a family wedding in Dallas last May. Before that? It had been at least a couple of years. It wasn't that they weren't close. Just far away.

And then, seven months later, Howard Skinner, professor of law, phoned to say he was in Washington on "emergency" business, and hoped to fit in a long-overdue visit.

Jesus.

Why now? Why three fucking days before Christmas?

Less than two hours after taking the call at his desk, Assistant Director Skinner met Professor Skinner for dinner at the Willard Hotel, near the White House. Howard brought Walter up to date on family matters over drinks, and they talked about work over appetizers. Then the inevitable happened. Halfway through the main course, Walter ran out of things to say about the Dallas Cowboys' lacklustre season, and Howard somehow wound up broaching the subject of his brother's love life. But the AD wasn't about to answer that particular line of questioning in the middle of a crowded restaurant. No cataclysmic revelations would be forthcoming until he was home, with a tumbler of single-malt scotch in one hand, and the bottle near the other. He told his brother he wasn't comfortable discussing something this personal in public, and easily convinced Howard to check out of the Willard and stay with him.

And now Howard was sitting in the living room of Walter's condo, continuing to gently badger the witness.

"Hell, Walt, this place isn't bad. Do you think you'll ever buy another house?"

"Maybe." He resisted the urge not to throw back the rest of his drink.

The professor cast a trained eye around the room, noted the absence of flowers, potted plants, back issues of Cosmo and People. "So, I guess you won't be going away for the holidays this year."

"Nope. Not with all this Y2K bullshit. DC's the most likely target for a New Year's Eve attack, which means I'm on call 24/7."

"Too bad. Where'd you go last year? Florida, wasn't it?"

"Uh-huh." Of course, he'd never told Howard who his travelling companion had been. The doomsday clock was ticking down.

The younger Skinner inclined his head toward the artificial Christmas tree and its eclectic assortment of ornaments, including the U.S.S. Enterprise, an alien that looked not unlike E.T., and a brown fox. "Interesting tree, Walt. You decorate it yourself?"

With careful deliberation, Walter placed his tumbler on the coffee table between them and faced his brother, dark eyes even darker and somewhat dangerous. "If you want to know if I'm--*with*--someone, why don't you just ask? It's not like you to beat around the proverbial fucking bush like this."

Howard put his drink down too. "And it's not like you to be so goddamned cagey. Christ, Walt! I knew you were keeping something from me--from all us at--at the wedding, and you've been as skittish as a White House intern from the second I called this afternoon."

Walter unknit his brows, took off his wirerims so he could work the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I know. It's just that it's--It's something that--The wedding wasn't the right time--" Shit. This was even harder than he thought. He grabbed the Glenlivet to refill their drinks, but was stopped in mid-pour by the chirping of a cellphone. Both men reached into their pockets, but it was Walter's FBI-issue cell that was guilty. His opening remarks would just have to wait.

"Skinner."

<It's me.>

He brightened immediately, and Howard hid a knowing smile behind a sip of scotch.

"Hi! Oh, God. Hi! I was just thinking about you. How's the case going?" He glanced at his watch. "Hey! You're early. Are you all right?"

<Relax, Walter. I'm fine. We're just getting ready to join the stakeout at this sicko's little hideaway. It might take all night, so I thought I'd call now and see how *you're* doing.>

Once again, Mulder was constantly--frantically--worried about Skinner's health, and the AD silently cursed Alex Krycek. The little prick hadn't shown his shifty face since November, favourite toy in hand. If Scully hadn't interrupted the impromptu meeting in the AD's office and frightened Krycek off, Skinner'd likely be in an urn on the mantel right now.

"I'm okay. But I'd feel a whole lot better if you were here instead of Newport fucking New Hampshire."

<Come on, Seymour. You know how desperate I was to get out of going to the office Christmas party. How was it, by the way? Did Dorothy what's-her-name from Records try that mistletoe routine on you again?>

"I managed to get away with my virtue intact. I'll tell you all about it when you come home. Please tell me that'll be soon..."

Mulder sighed. <If we get the asshole tonight--and our source says he's there, so it looks like we will--we'll be flying home tomorrow. Think you can last one more night alone?>

Skinner looked over at his brother, who was leafing through a copy of The Lone Gunman with a bemused expression that momentarily transported Walter back to their childhood. "I won't be alone, exactly."

A pause. <Excuse me?>

"Howie's here."

The professor raised his head at the mention of his name.

<Jesus, Walter! Howie? As in, your *brother* Howie? He's there *now*?>

"Yup. Sitting right across from me."

<Shit! Does he know? Have you told him about us?>

"Not yet. I was doing a lousy job of trying to break it to him when you called."

<Sorry I'm gonna miss out on all the fun.>

The dripping sarcasm wasn't lost on Skinner. "Don't worry. You'll get your fair share when you meet him tomorrow."

<*If* he's still around.>

"He will be," Skinner assured with more confidence than he actually felt.

<What the hell's he doing there so close to Christmas, anyway? It's not like he just happened to be in the neighbourhood...>

"The ABA asked him to help with a crisis that's too hush-hush to share with a lowly FBI paper-pusher," he said, levelling a good-natured scowl at his brother. "He's heading back to Texas Friday morning."

<Are you sure you wanna tell him?>

"I kind of have to now, don't you think?"

<Yeah. I guess so. What? Uh, Walter? I gotta go. Scully's here and she's giving me "the look.">

"I'll bet she is. Tell her to be careful. You too." He shuddered. "I wish it wasn't your mission in life to be admitted to every hospital in the entire goddamned country."

<Don't blame me; you're the one who keeps signing the 302s.> He sobered. <Look, Seymour, you be careful too, okay?>

"Always. I love you, Fox."

<Jeez, Walter! You--oh, hell. I love you, too. I hope you know how fucking hopeless you are.>

"Yeah, I know. Good luck with Langer. Keep me posted, all right?"

<Will do. 'Bye.>

"'Bye." Skinner folded up the phone and tucked it back in his pocket, then faced his brother with quiet dignity.

"Well," Howard began evenly. "So. You're seeing someone in the Bureau. A subordinate?"

"Uh-huh."

"Young?"

"About your age."

"And 'Fox.' Is that a nickname?"

"No. It's his real name. It was his maternal grandmother's maiden name."

Howard passed his hand across his face. "Christ, I guess it was true after all..." His voice was just above a whisper.

"What was?"

"The things they said about you. In high school. Before you joined the Marines."

Walter gaped at his brother. "You were just a kid then! Too young to know--"

"They said you liked," he peered down at his clasped hands, "kissing boys. I was old enough to know what *that* meant. Damnit, Walt!" He snapped his head up, brown eyes blazing. "I stood up for you! I told them they were wrong. I called them liars and got beaten up for defending you!"

Oh, God. "Howie--"

"Remember when I was little? And the other kids called me 'Howard the Coward' because I wore those stupid glasses?"

"*Howie*--"
"You know what they called me after you went away? The 'fairy god *brother*!' I didn't figure *that* one out 'til eighth grade."

"Jesus, Howie. I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

The younger man ran a hand through what was left of his hair. "You were in no shape to hear that kind of shit when you came back from 'Nam. And you were highly decorated, and since queers aren't supposed to be man enough to earn medals of honour--"

Walter winced.

"--everyone figured you really *were* normal, and that Kevin Johnson had misinterpreted some innocent horseplay, or exaggerated, or lied because he was jealous of you being more popular than he was. The last of the rumours died when you started dating all those women. And then when you married Sharon--" He gasped. "That's why she left you, isn't it?"

Walter took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. "No. She left me because I turned out to be a poor excuse for a husband and a shitty friend. I wasn't unfaithful to her until we were separated."

"I'm sorry, Walt, but do you honestly expect me to believe that you didn't have sex with men the whole time you were with Sharon?"

"Except for my ill-fated pass at Kevin when I was 17, I didn't have anything to do with another guy until I was 46. And that guy was Fox."

Howard blinked as if to clear his head. "I don't--You're kidding, right? Oh, God. You're *not* kidding. But how--?"

"You know how fucking stubborn I can. When I make up my mind to do something--"

"Yeah, I know, I know. I've never seen anyone quit smoking as quickly as you did."

"Hell, once I didn't drink for a year just to prove to myself I could do it. Dealt with my attraction to men the same way...like a bad habit I could stop at will. And you know what, Howie? You can't fight something that big forever. Sooner or later, you have to admit who you are and accept it." He tried out a small smile. "And it's a helluva a lot easier when you meet the right person."

"Is that what this Fox guy is? The 'right person?'"

"Yeah," Walter said softly. "He is."

"How long have you known him?"

"He started reporting to me six years ago. We've been together for just over 14 months, and he's been living here since last December."

Howard slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair. "Great! That's just great! And when the hell were you planning to tell me? Never?"

"I wanted to in May, but it wouldn't have been the right time. I needed to talk to you alone. Away from the rest of the family. Before he left for New Hampshire, Fox suggested that I take some time off after the holidays and go down to see you. I was going to convince him to come with me."

"You're--you're really in love with him, aren't you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"What about your career? If they find out--"

"We'll worry about that if and when it happens. It's just a *job*, Howie. But Fox--" Walter briefly squeezed his eyes shut against terrifying memories. "My life wouldn't be worth shit without him."

Howard stared numbly at his brother before picking up his drink and draining it. "I could use another one of these."

"You okay?" Walter asked, pouring for both of them.

"No. I don't know. I guess so. I just--you--oh, fuck!"

Walter rose and walked over to where his brother was sitting, crouched in front of him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Howie, look at me. Look at me! I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, but I'm not going to apologize for who am I or who I love."

Howard shook his head. "You haven't disappointed me, Walt. Surprised the hell out of me, though. Give me a little time to get used to the idea of you playing house with another man, okay?"

"Sure. But this is no game, Howie. Don't ever forget that." Certain he'd made himself clear, he stood and stepped back, hands on his hips. "I'm gonna make some coffee."

As Walter busied himself in the kitchen, he decided then and there against telling Howard his *other* secret. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. But it cut him deeply to think that revealing there were potentially fatal nanocytes in his bloodstream might have got him a more favourable reaction.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

December 23, 1999
6:31 pm

The Brothers Skinner were discussing gun control when Mulder arrived home. Walter was on his feet the moment Mulder came through the door, the conversation with Howard forgotten, and it took every ounce of that legendary iron will to keep from running to the younger man and wrapping himself around him. Instead, the AD approached with practised control, stopping within touching distance.

"Welcome home." //Missed you,// he added with his eyes.

"It's good to *be* home." //Missed you, too.// Mulder dropped his bags, shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it over, making sure their fingers met.

Eventually, reluctantly, Mulder tore his gaze from his lover's and aimed it at Howard Skinner, who'd risen to greet him. He looked exactly the same as he did in all the photos Mulder'd seen of him, most recently the wedding shots. There was no doubt he was a Skinner. He had a little more hair than his brother and wore contacts instead of glasses, but his features were similar. At 39, Howard was eight years younger than Walter, slightly taller, and just as broad. But he was softer...not *heavy*, but not as muscular. And, in Mulder's view, nowhere near as sexy. Not by half.

The personal computer that was Mulder's brain quickly downloaded all available data on Howard Boris Skinner.

*Boris*! Jesus H. Christ, but that was even worse than *Sergei*. No disrespect to the dead intended, but what the hell were their parents thinking when they named their sons "Walter Sergei" and "Howard Boris?" It was a damned good thing that Mary and Richard Skinner's little boys had grown up to be such big, intimidating men.

"Come on." Skinner took Mulder by the elbow and gently steered him into the living room. "Fox, this is Howie."

Mulder extended his hand. "Call me Mulder. The only people who can get away with 'Fox' are Walter and my mother."

"Yeow!" Howard cried out as they shook, rapidly pulling back.

"For God's sake, Howie! What's the fuck's the matter with you?"

Howard answered his brother, but kept staring at Mulder.

"His hands! They're *freezing*!"

"Fox?" Walter stepped in between his brother and his lover, took Mulder's hands in his. "Jesus, babe! How'd they get like this?" He pulled him toward the sofa and sat down with him, trying to rub some life into the icy digits.

"I haven't been able to warm up since last night. The airports were cold, the planes were cold--"

"What happened? Last night, I mean." Walter had been on a conference call when Mulder had phoned from New Hampshire that morning to say they'd got Langer, so the AD didn't have any details of the take-down. And no idea why Mulder felt like he'd just walked out of a meat locker. He suspected it had much to do with the fact that Mulder had been close to death just six weeks ago, and was still underweight and not back to full health.

Mulder gave his lover's fingers a quick squeeze, then turned to Howard, who was watching the two men uneasily. "Did Walter tell you about the case we were working on?" He plowed on before Howard had a chance to respond. "We got a tip that this known terrorist, Jon Langer, was holed up at his sister's farm in New Hampshire, near the Quebec border, and was using the barn to build some millennium 'noisemakers.'"

Walter snorted but didn't stop massaging.

"The plan was to surround the place in the dead of night and wait 'til Langer showed his ugly face, then grab him with the goods. Problem was, it didn't really get dark."

Howard raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, 'it didn't really get dark?'"

"There was a full moon in conjunction with a lunar perigee."

Howard idly wondered if his brother knew what the hell Mulder was talking about, then decided the lovestruck sap probably didn't give a flying fuck. Walter had raised Mulder's fingers to his lips and was busy blowing on them, ostensibly to help speed up the thawing process. Looked more like he was eating them.

Mulder was warming to the topic at hand and appeared to be giving Howard his full attention. "The lunar perigee is the point in the moon's orbit that's closest to Earth. When that happens and the moon is full, it appears about 14 per cent larger than it does at apogee, which is the point in its elliptical orbit that's *farthest* from the Earth. The Earth is also several million miles closer to the sun in the winter than it is in the summer, and sunlight striking the moon is about seven per cent stronger, making it brighter.

"Also," he continued, "last night was the closest perigee this year. In layman's terms, it was a 'super bright' full moon and, because the weather was clear, we couldn't exactly sneak up on the barn. So, instead of waiting in nice, heated surveillance vehicles like we'd planned, we had to park more than mile away, then hike to the farm and hide in the bushes all night. Nearly froze our asses off. Lucky for us, Langer's an early riser. We got him just before six a.m."

Walter removed Mulder's fingers from his mouth. "Weren't you wearing gloves?"

"Of course I was, but they were useless. What I needed was mittens. Remember, we didn't expect to be outside for that long. Oh, did I mention that last night was the first full moon to occur on the winter solstice in 133 years? And it won't happen again for another century."

"Fox, as much as I love it when you channel Carl Sagan," Walter teased affectionately, getting a mock glare of indignation in return, "I think you should go take a hot bath. Dinner won't be ready for another 40 minutes. Go on up and I'll bring you something warm to drink."

"But what about--"

Walter nodded at the dining room table, which was set for three. "Everything's taken care of. Don't worry. I'm good."

"Yeah, I know you are," he said a little too huskily for Howard's liking. "Thanks."

Eyes glued to Mulder's back--and backside--as the weary agent trudged upstairs, Walter tossed the TV converter at his brother. "Amuse yourself. This won't take long." Then he headed for the kitchen.

"Yeah. Thanks." Howard scratched his head. Had Walter ever shown such concern or passion for Sharon? He didn't think so. And what was it about this skinny little know-it-all that had finally destroyed the former Marine's steely resolve? On second thought, Howard didn't want to know. He was feeling queasy enough as it was.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Skinner entered the bathroom to find Mulder sitting on the closed toilet seat, fully dressed except for his tie and shoes, hugging himself as he watched the tub fill.

"Here, babe." He handed Mulder a steaming mug, then lowered himself to the floor in front of him, squeezed Mulder's knees. "Are you okay? Really?"

"Yes. *Really*. Just a little chilly. God, this smells great. Like cinnamon. What is it?"

"It's called Bengal Spice. I got a bunch of different herbal teas in the office gift exchange."

The younger man grinned. "Beats the Christmas carol toilet paper you got last year."

Skinner grinned back, delighted to have his lover home again. And in one piece, at that. "No shit."

Mulder rolled his eyes at the bad joke. "So how's the visit with the professor going?"

"Not bad, actually," Skinner said, peeling off Mulder's socks. "Now that he's officially on holiday, he's a lot more relaxed, and I think--Sweet Jesus, Fox! Your feet are like ice!" Without hesitation, he tucked one foot under his cashmere sweater, barely flinching as the cold flesh burned his bare skin. He then took the other foot between his hands and began rubbing briskly.

"Uh, Walter," Mulder protested, "you don't have to--"
Skinner shushed him. "Just drink your tea and keep an eye on the water, okay?"

"Okay." He raised the mug to his lips and closed his eyes, hoping they'd still be dry when he opened them again. No one had ever cherished and cared for him the way Walter Skinner did, and he prayed that the big man fully realized how much he was loved and appreciated in return. He sighed happily when his feet traded places, and wiggled no-longer-numb toes against Skinner's abs.

"Z'that better, babe?"

"Much." He blinked, satisfied that his emotions were under control. "Thanks."

The tub was soon full. Mulder set his empty mug on the counter and stood up, offering Skinner a hand. "I can take it from here, Walter. Go back downstairs and be a good host."

"All right. But can I have a kiss first?"

"Thought you'd never ask." With an impish grin, Mulder stepped into Skinner's open arms and met his lips eagerly. "Mmmmm. *Now* I feel like I'm home."

"God, I wanted to do that all night. I missed you so much."

"Me too. Now, get out of here before my bath water gets cold."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mulder came down 20 minutes later, bundled up in thick sweatpants, heavy socks, and a huge red fleece pullover that was obviously not his.

Howard noticed that Mulder was also wearing a plain gold band on the third finger of his left hand, just like Walter.

Big brother had it bad, all right.

"Hey, babe. Want something to drink?"

Mulder plunked down on the sofa beside Howard so he could get an eyeful of his man, sitting in the armchair across from him. "I'll wait 'til dinner."

Walter wanted nothing more than to reach over and ruffle the damp, spiky hair. He would have bet his spleen that Mulder hadn't had anything more substantial than sunflower seeds and coffee since the previous day. "You won't have to wait long. Should be ready--" A buzzer went off in the kitchen. "--now."

"Can I help?"

"Sure. You can get the salad out of the fridge and take it to the table. And Howie?"

He was surprised anyone remembered he was still in the room. "Yeah?"

"Would you open the wine?"

"Sure." He was about due for another drink.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dinner turned out to be less unpleasant than Howard expected, even though the lovebirds kept sharing brief touches and smouldering glances when they thought he wasn't watching. Walter's cooking was better than good, and he was as spirited as Howard had even seen him. Mulder was positively charming, politely inquiring about Howard's family: wife Karen, daughter Heather, son Matthew--even the family pet, a Golden Retriever named Galbraith. He asked about SMU and the ABA, but didn't dwell on the FBI.

Howard was quick to catch on that Mulder was neatly avoiding talking about himself, and was, in fact, subtly steering the conversation toward the Skinner boys' early years.

"I find it fascinating that you don't come from a family of lawyers, yet both of you wound up going to law school."

Howard snorted. "Nothing fascinating about that."

Puzzled, Mulder looked from Howard to Walter, who was shaking his head, then back to Howard. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Howard annunciated, as though he was lecturing a dim-witted freshman, "I would have become a knife thrower for Ringling Brothers if that's what Walter had decided to do."

"Huh?"

"Howie used to suffer from an irrational case of hero-worship," Walter supplied.

The professor straightened. "'Irrational?' Come on, Walt! Anyone would have felt the same after what you did."

"Howie--"

Noting the warning tone of his lover's voice, the thin line of his lips, Mulder perked up. "What did he do?"

"*Howie*!"

Howard's brows flew to where his hairline used to be. "You never told him?"

"It's ancient history," Walter ground out. "Let it go, okay?"

But Mulder had no intention of letting anything go. "Never told me what?"

"When I was six and Walt was 14--"

Walter leaned back and focused on the ceiling. "That's right. Everybody just ignore me."

"--there was this old, boarded-up well at the back of our grandparents' property. We were told not to go anywhere near it but, of course, we did. Every chance we got. Anyway, one day we're playing near the well--on *top* of it, actually--and the wood's all weathered and rotten, and guess who winds up falling into it?"

"And Walter--" Mulder prompted.

"And Walt's the only one who's both skinny and strong and fucking *brave* enough to be lowered down by his ankles to rescue me. My leg was broken, I was pretty banged up, and had a moderate concussion, so if it hadn't been for Superman here--"

"Oh, for the love of God!"

"--they say I would have died. I spent four days on the critical list as it was." He grinned at his scowling sibling. "After I got out of the hospital, I followed him everywhere. Poor guy probably wished he'd left me down the well. Finally had to enlist to get away from me."

Walter was pink from neck to scalp. "Are you quite through?"

"Walt, Walt, Walt! You haven't changed a bit, have you? Still the same stubborn, unassuming, inflexible--"

"That's enough, Junior. Unless you want to spend the night handcuffed to the balcony."

"He's done it before," Mulder warned. "Not to me, of course."

"Not *yet*, you mean." Despite his best efforts, Walter couldn't maintain his grumpy demeanor. Not when a drowsy Fox Mulder, cheeks adorably flushed from drinking an uncustomary glass of wine with dinner, was rubbing his shin under the table...

"Tough guy," Mulder teased back.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, boy?"

"Uhn-uhn. I want Uncle Howie to tell me another story."

Walter laughed--the first genuine laugh Howard had heard bubble up out of his brother in years. And this was *Mulder's* doing? Incredible.

"'Uncle' Howie has a plane to catch in the morning," Walter told Mulder, "so let's call it a night, okay?"

"What time is your flight?" Mulder asked Howard.

"Nine. Walt said he'd drop me off on the way to the office."

"But, Walter--don't you have a seven o'clock meeting?"

Mulder's recent brain surgery obviously hadn't affected that wonderful memory. "I do, babe. Why?"

"Well, that's way too early to be dropping your brother off at the airport." Mulder turned to Howard. "Uh, Professor?"

"Hmm?"

"*I* could give you a ride." He glanced sideways. "I'm sure my boss won't mind if I'm a few minutes late for work."

"Well, if it's not too much trouble..."

"No trouble at all."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Thanks."

Mulder looked over the top of his glasses as Skinner came in from the bathroom. "For what?"

"Offering to take Howie to the airport."

"Any brother of yours is a brother-in-law of mine." He closed his book, and placed it and his glasses on the nightstand beside him,

"What're you reading now?" Skinner asked quietly, shutting the door and the overhead light.

"'The End of Time: The Next Revolution of Physics,' by Julian Barbour. It's really interesting."

"Uh-huh." Nice, light bedtime reading. "I can't believe you're still awake."

"I'm okay. I dozed a bit on the plane. Anyway, it's only--" He glanced at the clock radio, then back at Skinner to watch him undress. "--10:28."

Aware of Mulder's eyes on him, the older man stepped out of his briefs and dropped them into the hamper with a grin and a flourish. He was half hard already. His and Mulder's sex life had just gotten back to normal when the New Hampshire assignment came up, and he was eager to resume it, brother or no brother in the room below them. He grabbed a t-shirt from his dresser and started to pull it on.

"Walter!"

"What?"

"Don't." Mulder tugged the sweatshirt he was wearing over his head, then tossed it onto the floor beside him. "I want some body heat. Unless *you're* cold."

"Not me. I turned the thermostat up. You should be able to feel it soon." Skinner put the t-shirt back and walked over to his side of the bed. He removed his glasses, turned off the bedside lamp, then slid under the comforter and gathered an equally aroused Mulder into his arms. "Got anything special in mind for tonight?"

Mulder smiled shyly into Skinner's smooth neck. "Suggesting that bath was a great idea. I think you'll find me quite fuckable."

"Mmmmm. Edible, too."

That made Mulder's cock twitch. "I love when you do that," he said dreamily.

"I know you do. Scoot up to the corner and lie on your stomach."

Once Mulder was lying diagonally, the comforter pulled up to his neck, Skinner placed a couple of pillows under his lover's slender hips and wiggled into the opposite corner, disregarding the weight of the bedding upon his shoulders. He planted himself between parted legs and began kneading Mulder's ass, regretting it was too dark to see the little hole he knew was winking at him.

"Wow, that feels great. Please, Walter. More..."

Skinner tenderly spread the cheeks apart and nosed his way between them. Without any preamble, he zeroed in on Mulder's anus, licking and sucking until a steady stream of saliva dripped down Mulder's cleft to his scrotum.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God!"

Barely conscious of what he was doing, Skinner slid his hands down to where Mulder's ass met his thighs, and began pushing the younger man up and onto his knees. Meanwhile, he continued to burrow between Mulder's cheeks, nudging his butt higher and higher.

Head down, back arched, and legs wide open, Mulder hadn't noticed that the comforter had slid off him. All he cared about was the warm, wet mouth that was making noisy love to his perineum and the back of his balls.

Skinner reared up, sending the covers flying. He clutched Mulder's hips, pushed him slightly forward, held him so his knees hovered just above the mattress. Then he made his way back to the enticing little hole, teased it but didn't penetrate. Mulder started squirming, using his elbows for leverage, and Skinner dived in like a starving anteater. He wasn't just plunging his tongue into Mulder's ass; he was using his entire face.

"Wanna come!" Mulder clawed at the bed, pounded it, abused it. "Now! *Now*!"

Ignoring his own aching desire, Skinner slid one hand down Mulder's thigh and wrapped it around his throbbing cock, all while continuing the insane rim job. He'd barely begun pumping Mulder's erection when the younger man howled into the pillow and came, shooting all the way up his chest.

The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back, and Skinner was licking him clean, from Adam's apple to cockhead.

"Jesus!" Mulder croaked. "I think I passed out for a few seconds. That was fucking amazing!"

"Mmmmm." He finally released Mulder and sat up, glistening from chin to eyebrows. "I'll get the lube," he rasped, wiping at his dripping mouth with the edge of the discarded sheet. "I know you're dying to come, Walter, but I'd really like to suck you while you finish getting me ready."

"Hell, I've lasted *this* long. Just don't go too crazy, okay?"

"You're a fine one to talk."

"Do as I say, not as I do," Skinner smirked. "Maybe I could do something to distract myself while you have your way with me."

"You mean, besides sticking your fingers up my ass?"

Skinner tweaked the nearest nipple playfully. "Yeah, besides that. But first--" He handed Mulder his sweatshirt. "Put this on. You're cooling down already."

Skinner lay down on his side, his head at the foot of the bed, and squeezed the Astroglide onto his fingers as he waited for Mulder. Moments later, their cocks were in each other's face, and Skinner gasped as Mulder practically inhaled him.

"Remember what I said, Bart," he cautioned.

"Mmmmph."

Taking deep calming breaths, Skinner reached between Mulder's legs to finish stretching him. The moist hole was wickedly tight from lack of activity, and Skinner knew he was in for one helluva ride. As he inserted his index finger, he took Mulder's soft cock into his mouth and began to suck, tamely at first.

By the time Mulder was ready to be fucked, he was fully erect again. Skinner had hit his lover's prostate over and over while going down on him. Funny how that worked every time.

Now if only Skinner could hang on...

Fortunately, Mulder knew when enough was enough. "Walter? How do you want me?"

"On your side. So I can hold you. Keep you warm." //And not come before I get all the way inside.//

After pulling the covers back over them, Skinner elected to lube his cock himself. Even his own touch nearly set him off. But then he pressed his chest against Mulder's back, saw the scars--fading but still reddish-pink--under the new growth of hair, and suddenly his need wasn't so urgent. Penetration was slow and careful, a series of gentle pushes and thoughtful pauses.

"I love you, baby," he whispered just behind Mulder's ear, where the skin was so sweet and delicate. "You have no idea how much you mean to me. Beautiful, beautiful boy. Need you. Love you so much, darlin'..."

Since the summer, whenever they made love spoon-style, Skinner helped Mulder's body adjust to being filled by babbling away to him in soothing tones, saying things he would never utter face to face in a million years. He gambled that Mulder would be too preoccupied with what was happening to him to pay much attention to the idiotic endearments and raw truths. Because if Fox was ever to really listen--well, Skinner didn't want to think about it.

He would have been shocked to know that Mulder did, in fact, hang on his every word and, more often than not, had to fight back tears. His reticence was not due, as Skinner believed, to intense concentration. Nearing the end of his mind-of-its-own monologue, Skinner's lube-slick fingers flitted from one of Mulder's nipples to the other. "Ready, baby?"

Mulder pushed back into Skinner's groin, groaning. "Oh God, Walter! Yes! Fuck me! Do it!"

Skinner pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in. Did it again. And again.

"Harder! Harder, damnit!" Mulder grabbed the hand that was stroking his chest and dragged it down to his crotch. "Won't be long."

His second orgasm of the night wasn't the geyser the first one was, but was powerful enough to rip a mostly silent scream from him.

Skinner's one and only was a whopper.

Both men sincerely hoped that Howard was a sound sleeper

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"He doesn't like me."

"Fox." Skinner gently stroked and kissed the head resting on his shoulder. "He just met you. He hasn't had time to decide whether he likes you or not. He's just a little--freaked out--that I'm not the man he always thought I was."

Mulder splayed long, thin fingers over his lover's furry chest. "Why didn't you tell me how close you two were?"

"I did. I told you he was best man at my wedding."

"Yeah, but you *also* told me that both your sisters were bridesmaids and their husbands were groomsmen, so I figured it was, you know, a family thing. I didn't know that you were his idol."

"That was a long time ago. When he was a kid."

Mulder sighed. "It's so obvious he still worships you. Despite your poor choice of partners."

"Hey!" Skinner took Mulder's chin between thumb and forefinger, tilted it up. "Knock it off. You know I hate it when you talk like that."

"Even you have to admit that I'm not exactly the ideal person to take home to meet the family."

It was Skinner's turn to sigh. "You *are* my family, babe. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm going to show you off to my sisters and nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles and cousins the next chance I get."

"'Show me off?'"

"Yeah. Anything wrong with that?"

Mulder kissed him. "I love you, Walter. You're crazy, but I love you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Friday, December 24
7:16 am

"I could take a cab, Mulder."

They were in the kitchen--Howard at the table, Mulder leaning against the counter--both drinking the coffee that Walter had made before he left for work.

"Forget it. You're Walter's brother. You're--" He stopped himself in time. He was going to say *family*. "--not taking a cab."

Howard swirled the dregs in the bottom of his mug. "The airport's out of your way, and I'm sure you have better things to do with your time."

"I really make you uncomfortable, don't I?"

The professor looked up into hazel eyes filled with--what? Amusement? Amazement? Anguish? All three, perhaps? Shit.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. It's not you. The idea of Walter living with another man--it's not what I expected, okay? Not only do I have to deal with that, but also with the fact that I'm not as tolerant as I thought I was. I'm a little uncomfortable with *that* right now."

Mulder just nodded, then brought the coffee pot over to refill Howard's cup.

"I've always looked up to Walt," Howard continued, his voice picking up strength. "He was my hero when I was a kid. Still is, I suppose. And I won't just sit back and do nothing if someone tries to fuck with him."

Mulder took the chair across the table. "Look, Professor. I appreciate where you're coming from. Walter's my hero, too. He's saved my career, my sanity, my life. He's saved me from myself. You don't think I'm good enough for him? Well, I'll tell you something. I agree with you. I'm *not* good enough for him. But I--he means *everything* to me, and I'd rather die than ever hurt him. He's been through enough shit."

The two men held each other's gaze for several seconds before Howard finally broke the silence. "Yes, he has."

"Come on," Mulder deadpanned, getting to his feet, "you can threaten me some more in the car."

Howard snorted. Nearly grinned. "You'd get along great with my wife."

Mulder handed the other man his coat, put on his own. "You know, it would make Walter really happy if--" He stopped, suddenly flustered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Here, give me your suitcase."

Howard didn't budge. "Uhn-uhn. Not 'til you tell me. What would make Walt happy?"

"Jesus, are all you Skinners this goddamned pig-headed? I was just going to say, I don't expect us to be best friends or anything, but maybe we could try to get along for *his* sake, Professor."

"Fine. You can start by dropping the 'Professor' crap and call me Howie, okay?"

"Okay. Fine. Let's go, *Howie*. Your brother'll kill me if you miss your plane." He set the complex alarm system the Lone Gunmen had installed, then locked the door behind him.

When the elevator stopped on the 17th floor, it was already half full, so the ride to the garage was quiet. It wasn't until they were buckling up in Mulder's car that Howard resumed the conversation.

"Mulder," he said, placing a hand on his chauffeur's arm, "my brother's a smart man, and I'll support him no matter how he chooses to live his life. I just hope you both realize that you're going to run into people who are even bigger assholes than I am, and if you bail on him when things start to get a little rough, I'll find you and kick your scrawny ass from here to Mars."

//How appropriate,// Mulder thought, wondering how much Walter had told Howard about him. "The only way I'll ever leave is if he tells me to." //And then I'll curl up into a ball and die.// "So don't be in any big hurry to run out and buy steel-toed boots."

Howard let go so Mulder could start the car. "Walt lived with Sharon for 17 years and never really loved her. The way he feels about you, I figure he'll hang on forever."

Mulder put on his sunglasses as they emerged from the dark garage into the bright December morning. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'm one lucky son-of-a-bitch."

And he really believed he was. So what if he'd come from a tragic, fucked-up family? What was the big deal about being ridiculed by his colleagues? Who cared if he'd recently been institutionalized, hospitalized and nearly lobotomized? None of it mattered. Not when he loved and was loved beyond measure by a superhero dressed in Italian wool--a beautiful, strong, good man who'd given him his heart, invited him to share his home, made him feel like the most important person in the world.

For the second year in a row, Fox Mulder was looking forward to Christmas.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fini
February 6, 2000

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